The idea that on Shadow World she could be ruler of everything—a living god—was no longer the stimulus that drove her on. The Alexander the Great, or Regis Otis Trask syndrome—”I win! I survive!”-had been replaced by “We win! We survive!” The appetite for power and the aptitude for beating animate and inanimate into submission was still alive and well, but it was now a cooperative venture.
The death of Kira had forced the sisters to examine their own mortality, something their heightened physical abilities had made seem remote, at best. Kira’s tragedy had shown them that in some circumstances, being stronger and faster wasn’t enough to save their lives. It also showed them that they needed to produce offspring as soon as possible, to replace those lost in battle. If they were the ultimate survivors of their world, Ryan Cawdor was the ultimate survivor of his. Which was the reason why Dredda wanted his genetic material. With it and the viral transformation process, the sisters could birth a legion of indomitable warrior daughters, which their portable Totality Concept technology could then spread across the unmapped realities, like seeds on fertile ground.
“What we have lost today cannot be replaced,” Dredda said to the others. “A piece has been ripped from our hearts. Kira was brave and strong. And she loved us as we loved her. Her love and her bravery made us proud. Whatever we do after today, whatever we conquer, wherever we travel, she will always live in our memory.”
With that, Dredda bent and gently tipped the body bag over the edge. It made a slithering sound on the glass, growing fainter and fainter. The black bag slipped over the bulge five hundred feet below and disappeared into the shadowy crease. The sisters held gauntlets in silence. Moments passed, stretching longer and longer. There was no sound of impact.
As they turned from the chasm toward their waiting wags, Dredda noticed something strange on the side of Mero’s neck. It looked like an abrasion from the collar of her battlesuit. “What’s that there on your neck?” she said.
“It just appeared overnight,” Mero replied. “It itches a little, but not too much. I think it might be from the battlesuit.”
“That’s odd,” Dredda said. “I’ve got some minor irritation, too. But it’s on my shoulder. Could be from friction.”
They had been living in the battlesuits for weeks now, and only getting out of them in order to sleep. Under the circumstances, abrasions weren’t unexpected, even with the lubricant sprays they used to coat the inside of the armor.
Dredda knew that she and the others were spending way too much time in their battlesuits, but to be outside the artificially intelligent armor was almost unbearable. Without her suit, without the deluge of information it provided, without the access to its nanosecond response lethality, she felt incomplete if not crippled, and disconnected from her sisters. They felt the same.
“Jann,” she called, waving over the medical officer. When the blonde she-he stepped up, Dredda said, “Mero and I have got superficial skin rashes. Could be from our battlesuits.”
Jann looked at the side of Mero’s neck, noting the small patch of redness near the suit collar. “When we get back to the base,” she said, “I’ll give you both a topical ointment. An anti-inflammatory and local anesthetic. And I’ll take skin cell scrapings for analysis. I don’t think it’s anything important, but it never hurts to make sure.”
Chapter Eleven
When Colonel Gabhart spun at the sound of his name, he lost his balance. Ryan caught him as he fell, and since he seemed too wobbly to stand, helped him to a seat on the ground.
“Shadow Man?” the colonel said, squinting up through eyelids so puffy they were nearly swollen shut. “So the murdering bastards got you, too. What about the others?”
“Sit still,” Ryan told him. He beckoned to the companions and they came running.
When they saw how ravaged the colonel was, they couldn’t hide their shock. They were speechless.
“I guess I’m pretty messed up, huh?” Gabhart said, trying to laugh and choking.
“Take it easy now,” Ryan cautioned him.
Mildred pointed at Gabhart’s badge, which glowed bright green, even in daylight. “He’s really giving off the rads,” she said. “Try to touch him as little as possible.”